I compiled most of my poems today on a whim. I wanted to send them home to baba along with all my paintings.
The time I have been writing these poems, I have always whined about not having "inspiration" enough for poetry. I hadn't traveled much, for example, I didn't have stories to tell, I hadn't had disasters enough.

On retrospect, I indeed still had adventures. I had the luck to know, love and be loved by some wonderful human beings. Parts of them still exists and will always exist within me. I had been able to experience moments, moments that have left behind imprints in my soul and have left behind trails of lyrics -  poetry that will stay through every layer of my epidermis being shed.

How-to

What do you do when you know anything can happen the next day? How do you sleep in those nights? How do you go to bed knowing that you will have predictable nightmares, nightmares you have no control over, nightmares that do not even wake you up in the middle of the night anymore, and run their course until you wake up next morning exhausted, more exhausted then you were when you went to bed? How do you settle into this reality, that feels like a trance, a dream, you want to wake up from but cannot?

Well, you start with brushing your teeth every night.
You then take out and wash your contact lenses. Take a spray in the inhaler. Tuck yourself in bed, and hold on to something that doesn't speak. Like a stuffed toy or a pillow, in a tight, locking hug. You do not want to hear that everything will be alright - because hardly anything will be alright. You honestly do not want anyone to take care of you. But, maybe, that sheer act of holding something tight and close to you gives you something to do at least, churns up some hormones in your brain maybe, to make you feel that you can finally, finally sleep after a 16 hours shift that you deliberately put yourself through, to pretend everything was okay.

Holes

We have to wait till words reappear. Till I find
newer ways to tell you stuff. It is all old and obvious
what I have to say. No glitter. No smell of rainy days.

You know, sometimes, the holes left by words
are not filled with silence even.
When darkness hits, even silence evaporates.

And it is a nightmare, to not have words, nor silence.

Silence at least mends. Silence at least yells. Silence at least
listens to you.

Footnotes

Donot run away.

Hang in there, because I have stories to tell you.

I had dreamed of traveling only to return home.

To share with you how I got stoned
in a train in Paris

Or saw sunsets through windmills in Amsterdam

And drank wine atop a mountain in Alps

And had old boyfriends with ponytails

And young ones who grew hash

And found love and made memories.

Donot run away, daddy

You have to laugh again

And write footnotes for me.

I want to listen to the rain with some peace of mind.

Peace of mind comes rarely, and more so the moment you realise how wonderful it was.

I am terribly, terribly grateful to be alive. To be able to breathe, see, taste, feel, smell, speak, write.

I want to do simple things today, with someone I love. Fold clothes, cook together, wash dishes. I am weary of prisons and sufferings and knowing things I wish I didn't know - all I need is some corner where nobody comes and I can be on my own or with a person I feel peaceful with. For, peace of mind comes rarely.

I fear this could be my last chance to run my fingers through someone's hair. I suddenly realise how much I love to do this.
I suddenly notice the small moments we spent together, on the bay at Murano Islands and at Louvre and the Sistin Chapel. Moments - so transient and ephemeral, that they were over before I noticed they started.

Someone told me yesterday, "the big moments are great and wonderful, but they are not life. life is the tiny moments we take for granted".

I feel a change. I feel overwhelmed by the invincible courage in human hearts, I feel there are more things to admire in humans than despise, I feel the most important thing in life is the warmth of a loving heart.